


Phèdre's Choice

by angelsaves



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captivity, F/F, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-13 15:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16895025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: Phèdre makes her choice in La Dolorosa, and no one shows up to stop her: life as Melisande's plaything.





	Phèdre's Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tristesses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/gifts).



> This is a Yuletide treat! Happy Yuletide, tristesses :)
> 
> Thanks to Morbane for the most excellent beta.

_So be it, I thought, sitting alone in blackness, I cannot do this thing. Blessed Elua have mercy on me, but I would rather be Melisande's creature than a broken thing in a cell. At least it gave me a chance, a fragile, deadly chance, but a chance all the same. Here, I had none._

_I had chosen._

I slept soundly for the first time in long days and woke with the dawn, waiting for Melisande to appear. When she did, she did not question me, merely stood and gazed at me with that sapphires-at-twilight gaze that penetrated me to the marrow.

I took a deep breath and mustered all the courage I could. "I accept your offer," I said, modulating my voice as I had been trained in Cereus House.

Her lips curved in a smile. "Good."

Melisande and her men-at-arms accompanied me out of my cell, then outdoors, at last, where the brightness of the sunlight gleaming on the summer-green leaves of the trees (almost as lovely, I thought, as the sight would be in Terre d’Ange) brought tears to my eyes, and across the bridge, which held more terror when I was in control of myself than it had in the blankness of despair.

And then -- then I was hers.

There were servants aplenty in the Little Court, I knew, and it seemed to my company-starved mind that nearly all of them took part in having me bathed and combed and dressed for Melisande's pleasure: at least a dozen different faces and sets of impersonal hands. That first day, her pleasure was to have me arrayed in cloth-of-gold, as I had been for poor dead Prince Baudoin's natality. I wondered if it were on purpose, then stopped wondering; it was Melisande's decision, so it could be nothing but deliberate.

I was left to my own devices for an hour or so after my bath, during which time I explored the space I was to call my own for the foreseeable future. The light from the barred windows seemed faintly bloody from the velvet curtains overhanging them: they were not _sangoire_ , not quite, but echoed that shade. The walls, which I judged to be twice as high as my head, were hung with tapestries of a very fine quality, depicting innocuous pastoral scenes; the floors, ten paces square, nearly spacious after my long confinement, were covered in thick Akkadian rugs and strewn with cushions; the flagellary was in exquisite condition and locked tight, clear glass windows showing some of the _aides d’amour_ and implements of pain, carved hardwood drawers blocking others from sight. The servants had dressed my hair without pins, so I could not pick the flagellary’s lock; too, I did not want Melisande to know my skills in that area, if she did not already.

It was a pleasure chamber, outfitted with textiles and toys alike; it was a dungeon cell, meant to keep me locked away from the world. It was the challenge Melisande had set before me.

Melisande arrived unannounced while I was contemplating this, appearing in a swirl of white skirts with the Veil of Asherat covering her face. "Phèdre," she greeted me, drawing back the veil. I shuddered, remembering the last time she had done so. "Are you well?"

I steeled myself and met her gaze, blue and luminous. "Much better," I said, "in all fairness."

She laughed, pinning the veil back over her hair. The idea of stealing one of her hairpins in the throes of lovemaking crossed my mind, and I crushed it mercilessly. Melisande would never be so careless. "I am glad," she said. "Now, what will you do for me?"

I had to think, though my mind fairly reeled with the possibilities. It had been a long time since I had practiced the arts of the bedchamber – longer still since I had practiced them with such a patron as Melisande. I did not think that my skills had atrophied much, but I was hardly a blooming flower of the Night Court now. "Whatever your highness wishes," I hedged. I hoped that her desires would not aggravate such aches as my long confinement had brought upon me; I hoped that they would.

"Mmm." Melisande tapped her chin with one finger in thought. "It has been a long time for you, has it not? Perhaps you might begin with the _languisement._ Yes, I think so. For a start." She seated herself gracefully amidst a pile of cushions, settling her skirts around her. "Come here, Phèdre."

I yearned towards her at her merest words, kneeling before her, _abeyante_. She sank one hand into the artful arrangement of my hair and pulled me to her, kissing me. Her tongue met mine, and if I had not already been on the floor, I would have found myself there at the surge of passion that overcame me.

Melisande moved away, saying softly, "Ah. You are not so displeased with me, then."

"I am at your --" Not command; she disliked that. "-- pleasure," I finished. It was not a lie, if it was not the truth entire. I was there to be Melisande's plaything.

"Yes," she said simply. "You are."

I performed the _languisement_ on her then with all of the art I possessed, lavishing attention on the soft folds of her nether lips and her Pearl of Naamah with lips and tongue until her breasts heaved and the small muscles of her thighs twitched. Her fingers tightened in my hair to the point of red-edged pain, and I moaned against her flesh with the torturous pleasure of it.

Eventually, she had done with me; she released my hair and waved me off, rearranging her skirts to perfect neatness. "I will send a servant with such texts as you desire," she said, rising.

"Thank you, your highness," I said, lowering my eyes.

"Oh, Phèdre," she said, her voice caressing. "There is no need for such courtesies between us, not when we are alone – not anymore. You need not tell me what I already know."

"Yes... my lady." I couldn't help it; I glanced up to see how she would respond.

Her lips were curved in a smile. "That, I will allow." She replaced her veil and left, then, leaving me in a heap of crumpled cloth-of-gold with my own thoughts.

 

***

There were texts aplenty; about that, she had not lied. They were in a mix of d'Angeline, Caerdicci, and Hellene, which I had expected. That first day, I was allowed to study as suited me, kneeling, my elbows propped on either side of a codex set on a low table, for as long as the candles lasted.

On the second day, I was again permitted to read; this time, however, Melisande preferred that I do so naked, in one of the more stressful poses from the Trois Milles Joies, elbows forced to meet behind my back, knees spread. She provided a servant to turn the pages when I asked for it, remaining nearby, where she betimes gazed upon the picture I made, and betimes replied to correspondence, her pen moving gracefully across a page too distant for my eyes to focus upon.

"Are you tiring, Phèdre?" she asked, amusement making her voice rich and sweet.

"No, my lady," I made myself reply.

"Mmm." Melisande rose, as gracefully as any adept of the Night Court, and came over to where I knelt. She lifted my hair, making certain that my hands remained pressed together in the prescribed pose, then let it fall in a susurrus of sable locks. "Does your reading please you?"

In truth, I could not remember the last few paragraphs that had crossed my vision. "Yes, my lady," I said.

She cupped my cheek in her hand, gazing into my eyes, at the scarlet mote in the left one. "Good," she said. "It won't free you, you know."

"I know." Nevertheless, I hoped.

***

Each day brought some new torment, some new pleasure. One day, she came dressed in the finest black leather, from boots to gloves, having disposed of her veil somewhere outside my cell, and bade me undress her without the use of my hands. The texture of the leather was soft and complex beneath my tongue, and, pulling off the gloves, I did my best to use my teeth as possible, so as not to mark them. The bodice of her gown was laced, reminding me rather of the trick we learned growing up in Cereus House of untying the stem of a cherry with one's tongue alone as practice for the arts of the bedchamber, and beneath it was only Melisande. Gloriously nude, she beat me with her gloves until my skin fairly glowed red with the abuse.

Another day, it pleased her that I would kneel at her side and eat choice tidbits of a luxurious meal from her own hand. My memory of that meal should include the varied flavors of the melding of Serenissiman and d’Angeline cuisine that characterized life in the Little Court, but, to my chagrin, it does not. Every so often, Melisande would allow a finger to graze my tongue; I longed for these moments, when I could taste the salt of her skin, as a man dying of thirst longs for water, though betimes I hated myself for it. 

On yet a further day, she had me recite all of the Hellene poetry I knew by heart while she penetrated me, slowly, so slowly, with a carven phallus, until I broke my rhythm, begging shamelessly for the release that only she could give me.

There was no tedium in being Melisande's pet. Yet all the time, in that scheming part of my mind that I kept separate, I wondered: could I get a message to Joscelin, if he yet lived? Could I find a way to stay Melisande's hand?

I didn’t know. I had thought, in my fondest wishes, that by this point in my new captivity, I would have learned somewhat that could aid me in my escape. It was not so. All I could do was wait in watchfulness, and pray that my fate was not to be broken by pleasure.


End file.
